Crashing the Wedding
by Anactolica
Summary: Prussia will do anything to keep his Birdie happy. Even if that means watching him marry the wrong person. France and Spain, however, are inclined to disagree. Slight AU.


**Bonjour mes amis!**  
**After a vicious battle with the world's deadliest enemy known only as... *looks around carefully, then whispers* Exams... My creativity died. Painfully with much screaming and gnashing of teeth.**  
**But after much effort I have resurrected it and beaten it into producing this!**

**In all seriousness, it is ridiculously difficult to write after an 8 month hiatus. This is a oneshot I wrote for my friend Emily as her secret Santa present, and I hope you like it :)**

**Contains: Swearing, some fluff, BTT (who deserve a warning category all to themselves.)**

**Disclaimer: I would say I own Hetalia, but being sued is not on my bucket list.**

* * *

The sunflowers were dying. _Again._

It didn't matter what he did. He planted the seeds, watered them, gave them enough sunlight - hell, he even put them right by the window - but did they grow?

Of course not.

Canada cursed quietly in French, regarding the drooping petals. "So much for 'easy to grow'," he murmured to himself, sighing slightly as he took the pot back to the windowsill and set it down gently as if it would prompt a miraculous recovery.

It didn't. Canada wasn't surprised. It hadn't worked with the other six attempts either. The window was turning into a veritable forest of fading and dead sunflowers.

He picked up the small watering can and emptied it into the pot, the stream of liquid glittering in the light, before sprinkling a pinch of plant feed on top. _There_, he thought. _That should do it. _Humming lightly he headed back over to the workbench, pausing to pick up another pot on his way.

_Half a trowel of gravel, two trowels of compost, pat five times..._ It had become a sort of routine for him. He was just placing the seed delicately into the pot when-

"Mattie!"

The pot flew three feet into the air, spraying the contents and occupants of the room with compost before landing on the workbench with a crash and colliding with the seeds. The bag toppled, sending the slick shiny kernels over the wooden floor. Finally the pot rolled off the table and straight onto the edge of the compost bucket, knocking it onto its side and burying the seeds in compost.

Canada was not amused.

"Gilbert." He turned to face the intruder.

Prussia shifted from foot to foot as he stood in the shed doorway, his luminescent hair peppered with brown earth. "Eh, sorry Mattie. Wasn't expecting you to jump like that," he apologised with a guilty smile. "Want the awesome me to give you a hand?" Canada sighed.

"You caused the mess in the first place Gil," he muttered before sighing and brushing the compost from his clothing.

"You're helping whether you agree to or not," he said louder this time before turning and heading to one of the cupboards. Prussia's trademark laugh sounded behind him as he rummaged through the assorted gardening supplies before finally locating the dustpan and brush. "The broom is over by the window. Next to the hoe."

"Next to the what?!" came the incredulous response. Canada shook his head slowly as he turned to face him.

"It's a gardening tool Gil," he started to explain before stopping at the sight of the Prussian's grin. "Bâtard."

"I'm too awesome to hate," Prussia deadpanned before grabbing the broom and starting to sweep up the debris. "What were you doing anyway? And what's with the unawesome flower graveyard?"

Canada's reply was unintelligible. This wasn't a surprise. From the way Mattie had shot into the air it was obviously private. It's a good thing the awesome me is his best friend, he chuckled to himself. Except that verdammt unawesome bear. Ever since Prussia had sat on Kumajirou in the middle of his nap it had taken a distinctive disliking to him, something Canada had and still found highly amusing.

Prussia paused in his sweeping. Canada still hadn't answered his question. Grinning, he quietly tiptoed his way over to where the Nation was loading compost back into the bucket. He stretched out his hands, preparing to tickle...

"I can hear you, you know." Canada stood up and brushed his knees off, glancing back. The Prussian pouted.

"So why the graveyard?" He repeated. Canada blushed slightly.

"They're... meant to be Ivan's present. You know, for Christmas," he said quietly. Prussia stared at him for a moment. Then his lip twitched. And again. Before finally, he burst into laughter. "What's so funny?" Canada asked.

"Kesesesese... Mattie," Prussia giggled. "It's winter. Sunflowers don't grow in the winter."

"I know that, but I thought that growing them in the heat in here would make up for that. But no matter what I do, they either keep dying on me or don't grow at all," Canada sighed. "I'm surprised you're okay with this."

Prussia shrugged. "Not much I could do about it even if I wasn't. I hate the arschloch, but I'm too awesome to try and stop you. But as the awesome best friend, I reserve the right to rip his Hoden off if he even thinks about hurting you." His red eyes narrowed at the thought.

Canada smiled. "Deal," he agreed. "Now, I think that's about it..." He surveyed the floor. The compost-seed mixture was in the bucket, the remaining seeds were in the packet and the pot was back on the pile. "I haven't got a clue what I'm going to do about all those though," he gestured to the tangle of foliage on the windowsill. Prussia tapped his fingers rhythmically against the table as he thought.

"Why don't you take them to England? He might be able to magic them to health," he suggested.

"And make a rampant sunflower monster in the process," Canada said dryly.

"Good point. Your brother?"

"Al would probably go straight to DEFCON 2 at the mere thought of 'his little brother' and 'that damn Commie'."

"...Good point. Again. Can't you buy him some sunflowers from a shop or something?"

"They're out of season, like you said. And besides," Canada said. "I don't want those drooping yellow catastrophes that die three days after you buy them. I want them to be... special," he finished. Prussia regarded him for a moment.

"You're really serious about this," he said, uncharacteristically quietly.

"I am," Canada replied in a similar tone. An unreadable emotion flickered into Prussia's crimson eyes for a second before it disappeared and the narcissism was back in full force.

"Then the awesome me shall assist you!" he declared loudly, grinning and bouncing around as normal. "First we need a Plan of Awesome!"

After an hour, they had managed to draw up a rough draft of said plan:

* * *

Awesome Prussia and Birdie's Plan of Awesome _of getting Birdie laid_

Step 1: Come up with awesome gift for the _arschloch_ Russia. Try eBay, Amazon etc.  
Step 2: Gift wrap present and Birdie and deliver to front door. _Be sure to soak in vodka so he knows where it is_ (Not funny Prussia!)  
_Step 3: Strip and gift wrap Birdie and deliver to front door along with vodka_ (No. Way. Not. Happening.)  
Step 3 MkII: Arm a certain awesome Nation with his best friend's brother's shotgun and deliver him to Russia's front door to let him know exactly what will happen if he hurts said best friend. Best friend has no option but to agree to this, or previously mentioned brother will be informed of best friend's plan. In awesome detail. (Fine, you can have this one.)

* * *

"This," Prussia declared proudly, "is truly a Plan of Awesome." Canada had the overwhelming urge to slam his head onto the workbench. "We can start working on this right away!"

"No, Gil. We can't."

"Why?" Prussia looked bemused, his plan held loosely in his hand. "It's not late or anything..."

"No, it's not late," Canada said. "But we're in my garden shed. I don't have a laptop in my shed. Or WiFi for that matter." Prussia suddenly grinned manically. "What are you- eep!" Canada squealed involuntarily as the albino grabbed his wrist and practically dragged him through the door and to the main house. "Bâtard!"

. . . . . . . . . .

"So... You could get this? Or maybe... This?"

"Gilbert, no."

"Why not? It's got sunflowers on it!"

"I am not giving Ivan a PVC sunflower costume. Or those... Whatever the hell they are."

"But-"

"No." Canada's answer was firm and unyielding. "My answer is the same as it was over an hour ago. No." Prussia pouted.

"Fine," he said finally, turning the screen away from Canada and towards himself. "What about..." He tapped a few keys on the laptop. "This?" He turned the screen back again.

Canada instantly knew that this was it. It wasn't big, about the size of his palm in total. But it was so beautiful.

It was a sunflower, a glittering silver sunflower. The petals were encrusted with tiny yellow and red stones that had sparkled in the camera flash. The stem wound its way from between the petals gleamed as it twisted its way into an ornate base in the shape of a green gemstone-tipped leaf. Canada was awestruck. He just knew Russia would love it.

"That," he said quietly. "That's it. That's what I'm getting him." He turned to Prussia, just missing his bitter smile. "Gilbert, you're a genius."

. . . . . . . . . .

"Gilbert, you're a fucking idiot."

Prussia couldn't help but agree. "I know," he sighed. France snorted.

"Well at least you admit it mon ami," he said, passing the wine bottle back. Prussia grasped it and drank, almost finishing it much to France's horror and protests.

He had smiled and laughed and helped Mattie order the ornament. Then he had smiled some more and helped Mattie make and eat pancakes. Then he had made his excuses and gone back home to lock himself in West's basement. After three days Germany had simply kicked the door down, fed up of shouting through it with no result. He couldn't quite remember how he had ended up at France's place, but he remembered drinking a lot of beer with the intention of getting as drunk as he possibly could. Which would account for the memory loss.

"So what are you going to do about it, mon amie?" Prussia jerked out of his thoughts.

"What? Do about what?" he asked. France looked exasperated.

"Matthieu et Ivan? What are you going to d-"

"Nothing," Prussia said simply, closing his eyes and placing the cold wine bottle on his forehead. "It would be unawesome. I'm his best friend, I can't just break them up no matter how much I want to. I'm too awesome for that." There was silence for a moment.

Then France tipped his glass of wine over Prussia's head.  
"What the... Unawesome arschkopf!" Prussia spluttered, his eyes flying open as he tried to remove the cold liquid from his hair and face.

"Arschkopf? That's a new one," France commented setting his now empty glass down on the table. "Arse-'ead, non?" He got a glower in response and sighed. "Look mon amie, let's be serious for a minute."

"You? Serious?" Prussia said snarkily, but accompanied by a weakened version of his trademark grin.

France smiled back, refilling his glass. "Oui. Matthieu est mon petit cheri, Prussia. There are certain things I do not agree with 'im doing. Dating Ivan is one of them. You, mon amie, are one of my best friends. I know all about you, the good et the bad. Especially the bad." He winked. "But despite that I would much rather you were dating him instead of that... Nation. Mais, 'e is very stubborn when he sets his mind to it. Especially in matters de l'amour. So as mon petit lapin Angleterre would say, get your arse in gear because if you don't hurry up you'll lose him for good." He sat back with a smug smile and sipped his wine. Prussia had a mild look of shock on his face.

"Francis...?"

"Oui?"

"Your accent..."

"Angleterre likes it too."

Well that explained a lot.

. . . . . . . . . .

2 years later

. . . . . . . . . .

Prussia was having an awesome dream. He and West were fighting off a zombie invasion straight out of Resident Evil when Alice came out of nowhere and started kicking zombie arse. Then she turned around and Prussia saw it was actually Mattie in a dress. This threw him but he didn't care that much. Especially when the dream quickly became rated 18+. It was perfect.

Then a zombie kicked him in the ribs.

"Get up! Mon dieu, you snore like a pig Gilbert!"

"Huh?" Prussia mumbled. "The zombies got you too Francis?" He blearily opened his eyes and was rewarded with the sight of Francis looking down at him, a disapproving expression on his face. Along with a killer headache.

"Mon ami, zombies are too badly dressed to ever conquer moi," he rolled his eyes. "Now get up. You have a wedding to attend."

Recollection hit Prussia like a freight train. He groaned loudly and rolled onto his stomach. "Nein. I'm not going."

"You cannot spend the entire day on my living room floor amigo," another voice said mildly. "You have to face your demonios."

Prussia opened his eyes long enough to verify it was Spain, then shut them again. "Try and stop the awesome me."  
There was quiet murmuring for a few seconds before the room was once again filled with blissful silence. Prussia shifted slightly: he could feel himself dozing off again. And that was fine with him. Maybe he could continue that awesome dream...

Maybe not.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt! Levez-vous! I told you deux years ago that you would 'ave to work to earn mon petit Mattheiu's 'eart! And now you lay zere on Espagne's floor feeling sorry for yourself? Mon Dieu I zought you were a grown man! You are ze best man, and short of crashing ze wedding..." France stopped mid-rant.

Prussia slowly raised his head from the floor to stare at the Frenchman, a grin slowly growing on his face. Suddenly he sprang to his feet, leapt over the sofa and through the doorway in one smooth movement. France and Spain could hear crashing sounds from the hallway.

"Um... Francia? Did I miss something?" Spain asked, confused.

"Un moment s'il te plait," France said gesturing for him to wait. Finally Prussia emerged from the doorway again, his hair like a porcupine and covered in dust, a massive grin on his face.

"Ohhh..." Spain breathed, understanding brightening his face as he saw what Prussia was holding.

An electric guitar.

. . . . . . . . . .

It was meant to be the happiest day of his life. That's what they had all told him. But with Russia on his second vodka and still no sign of Prussia, Canada was seriously doubting that. He wandered over to where Hungary and Austria were standing.

"Hungary?" He tried to attract her attention. No such luck. "Hungary?!" Nothing. "Elizabeta!"

The Hungarian swung round with a jolt, eyes scouring for the source of the shout. "Eh?" she said in bemusement. Canada sighed. Suddenly her eyes focused on him. "Canada! Sorry, I didn't see you there," she smiled sheepishly.

"Don't worry about it," Canada's return smile was slightly strained. "Anyway, have you seen Gil?" Hungary's eyes softened.

"I'm sorry but no," she said. "Hasn't he arrived yet?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him around..." the Canadian frowned.

"Maybe France or Spain know where he is?" Austria offered. Canada nearly jumped. He had almost forgotten the nation was there, he was so quiet.

"M-maybe. Thank you," Canada smiled graciously before heading off through the small croud gathered outside the church.

"He still doesn't know I take it," Austria commented mildly. Hungary sighed, twisting her sleeve between her fingers.

"No," she said, annoyance tinging her voice. "It's ridiculously frustrating."

"Eh, they'll sort it out soon enough."

"Knowing their luck it'll be after the wedding," she muttered before grabbing Austria's arm. "Come on. I think I see Switzerland and Lietchenstein over there," she said before dragging him over to where the blond duo stood.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Do you, Ivan Braginski, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband..."

Did he?

Did he really?

Was he really up for this level of commitment?

Sure, he loved Matvey. At least he thought he did. But marriage... He couldn't even remember how they got here. Could he? Or was that the vodka talking?

Marriage...

This was... Insane.

He was suddenly reminded of that singer, the one who belonged to Amerika. Katy something. She had a song about a wedding didn't she? The idea of Canada in a wedding dress and singing pop music struck him as immensely funny and he had to bite his lip to stop the kols from trickling out. Canada shot him a strange look.

"Are you okay?" He whispered.

Nyet.

He was most definitely not okay.

He... He couldn't do this. He loved Matvey but...

A deafening guitar chord ripped through the murmured hush of the church. Russia was torn between relief and shock as he spun to face the source of the music.

"Gilbert?!" Canada's voice was shocked. "W-where have you-"

"Hush Birdie," the albino nation grinned before playing a few more notes. Behind him France and Spain were also grinning like madmen as they plucked a few strings on their guitars, following Prussia's lead. Soon the notes turned into a recognisable tune, one that had America bursting into laughter and England hiding a smile at. Spain nodded and smiled at Romano who was standing at the speaker system. Romano scowled and muttered something before hitting a button and turning the volume to the max.

England started laughing. He couldn't hold it in any longer.

"I'm so rushed off my feet,  
looking for Gordon Street,  
so much I need to say,  
I'm sorry that it's on your wedding day," Prussia smoothly altered the lyrics.  
"'cause you're so right for me, your daddy disagrees."

"MON DIEU!"

"He's always hated me..."

"GILBERT!" Spain had to restrain France.

"'cause I never got a j-o-b.  
'cause he's mine."

Prussia's red eyes fixed onto Russia.

"And I'm glad I crashed the wedding." France and Spain joined in.  
"It's better than regretting,  
I could have been a loser kid,  
And ran away and hid,  
but it's the best thing that I ever did.  
Because true love lasts forever,  
so can we be together?  
As if he never met ya,  
die Schweinhund..."

"Kalingrad," Russia finally managed to growl.

"We're glad we crashed the wedding!" the three friends yelled. Applause, some polite, some sincere, filled the church as they bowed. Canada slowly walked down the aisle towards them, an indecipherable expression on his face.

Prussia caught his eye and grinned sheepishly. "Hey Birdie."

"Can we talk outside please?" Canada asked quietly. Prussia's grin became very strained suddenly.

Spain noticed and waved at Romano again before yelling "Join in, sí?" The opening notes of 'Air Hostess' rang out as Canada and Prussia slipped through the main doors.

. . . . . . . . . .

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Prussia shrugged. "You were infatuated with Braginski, and it would have been unawesome," he replied leaning against the door and staring at the scenery, the faint strains of music seeping into the air.

"So you decided to crash my wedding instead," Canada said flatly.

"Hey, at least I can make an awesome entrance," Prussia grinned at him before sighing. "What do you want me to say Birdie? I... I was scared alright? I was scared you didn't feel the same way, that telling you would ruin our friendship... And I'd rather have you as a friend than not have you at all, even if it meant seeing you with that schwein." Canada was surprised. He didn't think he'd ever heard Prussia say so much so sincerely before, or with so much feeling.

"Gilbert," he began, then was interrupted by a loud crash of broken glass coming from inside the church. The music stopped. Alarmed, Prussia and Canada yanked open the doors.

The first thing they noticed was the large Russia-shaped hole in the stained glass window in the back wall of the building.

The second thing was Belarus standing in front of the hole yelling in Belarussian.

The third thing was the traumatised vicar in her right hand.

Prussia and Canada looked at each other. Then quietly shut the doors again.

"Let's leave them to it shall we? Kesesesese~"

"Shut up Gilbert."

"Shut up Birdie." Canada sighed, smiling and shaking his head.

"Gil, have I ever told you you're insane?" he asked.

Prussia looked thoughtful for a moment. "Hmmm... Yes I believe you have," he answered slowly, before bouncing slightly on his toes. "Hey Birdie, wanna go get a drink with the awesome me?" he asked, near hyperactive.

Canada raised his eyebrows. "You crash my wedding, insult my fiance and now you want to take me for a drink?"

"Yupp!"

He rolled his eyes. "Sure, let's get a drink. We'll take your car: England drove me here."

Prussia snorted. "The awesome me, own a car? I came with France and Spain. Granted, that's because they were sobering me up on the way here..." Suddenly a thought struck him. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and brought out a set of car keys with a grin. "Want a lift, Birdie?" Canada could only laugh as the albino grabbed his hand and dragged him over to where France's beloved Porsche was parked.

. . . . . . . . . .

France sighed happily. Today had been parfait. His petit Mattheiu was no longer marrying the Russian, his best friend had eloped with his amor... C'est bon.

Then he heard his car starting up.

Outside.

Squealing in rage he spun and tore the doors open, ignoring the loud screech and crash as one came free from its hinges.

"PRUSSIA! FILS DE SALOP! GET BACK 'ERE AVEC MA CHERI! PRUSSIA! BATARD!" The distinctive laugh of the Prussian floated through the air back to him.

Only the mental image of his beautiful Porsche squashed beneath a lump of oak allowed Spain to from the door from his hands.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed it! :)**

**Anactolica**

**P.S. If you read my other fics, I'm planning to update at least one of them by February. However I've got yet more exams coming up in 2 weeks so bear with me if I can't.**


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